


No One More Deserving

by saint_troll



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV First Person, Sad, tw: depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:19:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saint_troll/pseuds/saint_troll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony finds himself drinking alone and mulling over the state of his and Bruce's relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One More Deserving

**Author's Note:**

> Not really sure where the angst came from... but I always find it best to exorcise it.

He’s going to leave me and there is nothing I can do about it.  We present ourselves to one another with fake smiles painted over our faces.  The war-weary creases and bag under our eyes hidden behind the facade.  And my heart breaks knowing that, once again, I am so easily tossed to the side.  I try to joke and explain it away; that others simply can’t handle the unique madness of my genius.  But I’ve began to doubt the assurances that once kept the darkness at bay.  

 

The merchant of death.  Perhaps it was a title earned as equally by my actions outside of Stark Industries.  Everything I touch now lies in ruins save for the company.  Midas never had such bad luck.  And so, I pour another drink and spend another night locked in my tower; idling my time away in the garage or in one of many research labs… searching for the something or someone that can provide meaning in a life of frivolity.  Iron Man is the only reason I am still alive today.  And I mean that in a way that is more complex and multifaceted that most would understand.  He hasn’t just saved my life, he is my life.

 

I sit and I brood and I tear myself apart at the obvious monster I’ve become; the monster that a string of lovers has always told me that I am.  Why didn’t I believe them before now?  I could have changed things.  But would I have?  How does one dismantle their own being?  How can one assess their psyche and pick away at the components that have a less than satisfactory performance?  Would I still be me if I’d changed myself so intrinsically so long ago?

 

There are no answers; only questions.  And I am tired.  So, so tired.

 

And sure, maybe I’m simply just spooked.  I mean, he pulled a runner a couple weeks ago.  He’s back now but… he still left.  It’s become this looming threat.  One wrong word, one slip about the hand I had in his former captor’s strength and cunning; he bolts.

 

He’s constantly telling me how we’re never going to work out.  That we’re doomed to fail without even really beginning.  And that hurts more than I’m willing to admit.  Hearing those words fall from his lips causes something to flare up deep in my chest beneath the scars left from the arc reactor.  It almost feels worse than the shrapnel  that once pressed so dangerously close to the tissue of my heart.  It’s dark and it is hollow.  It reminds me of falling through the black and the stars.  

 

It haunts me.  He haunts me.  Everytime I close my eyes, I see his face; the rage and sadness etched upon his features just as the amused apathy is etched upon my own.  I’m losing him.  Hell, maybe I’ve already lost.  Or perhaps, I never really had him to begin with.

 

Another drink down and half a bottle left in play.  I’ve found myself alone in the penthouse with the lights off.  The Manhattan skyline taunts me with its radiance.  All I want is the pressure of his chest to my back, his chin upon my shoulder and his arms wrapped around me. I ache to hear laughter falling softly from his lips.

 

He no longer trusts me.  And, son-of-a-bitch, if I don’t deserve it.  

 


End file.
